


beautiful veins and bloodshot eyes

by whispered_addiction



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anxious Harry, Bulimia, EDNOS, Eating Disorder, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Insecure Harry, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Mental Disorder, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Minor Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Sarcastic Louis, Therapy, creepy nick grimshaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered_addiction/pseuds/whispered_addiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re not alive, but you’re not buried under the ground beneath cobwebs either. You’re not rotting flesh, but you're not doing anything either. It’s like existing without living, and Harry hates it. He hates the way the Earth moves in circles and orbits around the sun without fail while he fails to everything else. He hates the way the monsters don’t live under the bed anymore, they live inside his head. And more than anything else, he hates that he loves everything poisonous, things that kill him inch by inch, by going in instead of out.</p><p>or</p><p>Harry has an eating disorder and Louis is more complicated than anyone realizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t understand.” is the first thing that comes out of Harry’s mouth. He’s standing in the building where everything is just perfect in his eyes; the bars, the wood floor, and the mirrors that haunt him.

“Harry, don’t think for a minute that we don’t know what you’re doing to yourself. You’re out of classes until you can find a way to get help.” Liam, his instructor and also friend says to him.

Harry cringes because really was it that obvious? And maybe it was, but still. How on Earth did they figure it out? Okay, maybe it’s the fact that he’s 102lb exactly and he doesn’t smile because he thinks his teeth are too yellow, but other than that...?

“Harry? Are we clear?”

“We’re clear.”

And then he leaves.

-

Harry hates going home. He absolutely despises it; and he doesn’t really know why. His flat is two bedrooms, and he’s not really sure how he affords it because he’s in college and Niall works at a cafe part time while Zayn is a hip-hop dance instructer that doesn’t get many students, but they somehow manage it, and really that’s all that matters.

And if he’s honest with himself he really actually kind of knows why he doesn’t like going home. He hates how the bathroom is right next to Niall and Zayn’s room and the kitchen is only about ten feet away. Way too easy, but he kind of likes it.

Harry gets his key chain out. It only has three keys on there; one that he doesn’t know where it goes, the other to the shared piece-of-crap car that Zayn is still paying off, and one to his, again shared, flat. (He’s still quite puzzled to why Zayn and Niall, a couple, would let him move in).

All the less, he lets himself in and heads to his bedroom, which is the second door. As he heads down the hallway he passes Zayn and Niall’s room that is empty, and sighs, why does he hate being alone? Actually, he kinds of knows. Just like he kind of knows everything, but not really. 

His room is really neat, organized. His closet that is color correct and from small to big. And his bed is always made with his favorite color, blue like the sky. And maybe it’s kind of pathetic, but his teddy bear that his mother gave him on his ninth Birthday is resting on his pillow. 

Harry sets his black ballet bag in his closet, next to his shoes, and looks around. He’s far too alone. He then walks over to his bed in a slow, uneven pace for Heaven knows why, and moves his teddy bear, then crawls under the covers and puts them over his head, just like he always does, then gets hot, and starts crying because he’s hot and the house is empty. Then he falls asleep, clutching his teddy bear in his arms, and maybe if he had someone beside him, it would be a little bit easier.

-

He wakes up hours later, then looks at his perfectly crooked clock. 1:00pm. And after that he realizes he’s very very hungry.

He trips over his feet and bounces down the last steps because his feet are unusually big (although he feels like they’re very small). The kitchen is a little messy, so he decides to putter around and clean because he’s got time.

He starts out by putting the silverware in the sink in a orderly fashion and straightening up the clean ones that are out of order in the drawer. Small to large, design to design. He then puts the dirty bowls in the sink and then grabs the cups and puts them in there too. He turns the water on and starts cleaning them. He washes them each twenty-seven times and then rinses and puts them on the drying rack. His hands are by then pruny. He decides he’s done with the dishes.

Next, he wets down a washcloth in warm, almost hot water, and wipes off the counter that looks like a sideways ‘L’.

Then, and only then can he eat.

He gets a large bowl and pours Cinnamon Toast Crunch in it, and then pours the 2% milk in there, and starts eating like he’s never eaten in his life. When he’s done he decides he could eat a little bit more, then a little bit more, and then the whole box is gone. (It was only 3/4 the way full, but still).

Harry grabs his curls and pulls. He wishes he could stop doing this, wishes he could just eat normal so he didn’t have to go and stick a finger down his mouth, but it’s no use. Before he knows it, he’s leaning over the toilet, sobbing, puking, and praying to God he could stop. Although he knows he won’t be able to.

-

When Harry finally gets up off the floor he hears Zayn’s sigh and Niall soothing him with his voice. He felt like they were his parents and he had just thrown a big tantrum.

“I’m sorry,” it comes out like a sob, and Harry can barely breathe because he’s just ashamed, but what else could he do? He ate too much. It was that simple.

Niall cleans around the toilet where Harry got batches of digested food on it and Zayn helps him up off the floor, Harry’s head hung low. 

When Harry finally settles down, they all go to the kitchen, Harry very reluctantly because they said they ‘needed to talk to him’ and Harry knew what it meant. Harry pulls his knees up to his chest as he gets situated on the couch. He hides in the corner of it, wanting to disappear right then and there.

“Okay, so me and Zayn have been thinking, and we know that it’s hard for you, and that you keep trying to stop, but,” Niall pauses, “you really need help. We signed you up for a therapy group that starts on Monday.”

Harry inhales deeply.

A therapy group? No. Not happening. Not a chance-

“And if you refuse, we’re going to have to take you to somewhere where you’re forced to get help.” Zayn finishes for Niall, who has tears streaming down his face.

Harry scratches the back of his neck, surely they wouldn’t do this, he thought. Maybe I can get away with skipping.. but no, they would surely find out. They always did.

He had no choice. He had to go.

-

When Monday rolled around, Harry got up and started puttering around the kitchen. Niall had left a note on the fridge:

Sorry we had to do this, mate, but it’s for the best.  
Group starts at 6:30, so leave by 6.  
Here are the directions.

Niall

Below was a pink sticky note with directions to the group and Harry sighed. He really did have no choice.

Harry ran his fingers through his curls, pulling and tugging because honestly it was not that bad and he did NOT have a problem. He could control it. He could stop. Then, he pulled harder because no he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t, but he kept trying to convince himself otherwise. 

As he pulled his fingers out of his hair, a few strands (okay, more than a few) fell out and clung onto his hand. And before he knew it, Harry was screaming. He was screaming so loud he was sure that somebody would knock on the door and see if someone was being murdered or something like that, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if anyone heard him, because he was in pain. He was falling apart at the seams and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

Or, if it could be fixed.

-

When Harry finally got calmed down, he decided to skip breakfast. It even worked for about two hours, but before he knew was happening, his stomach felt like it was going to split in two he was so hungry. First he checked the pantry and decided on some chips. When he finished the bag, he went to the fridge. A sandwich sounded good. Maybe two. When he was done with that, he had some leftover pasta. And when he was done with that, a finger or two was shoved down his throat.

No... no.... NO .... He thought.

He couldn’t stop. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to quit. It seemed as if someone else had taken over his body and set him auto-pilot. He couldn’t control himself. 

-

5:30 came and Harry was looking in the mirror. His cheeks were sunken in, and a sweatshirt shirt that had once fit him, was way too baggy and seemed to hang off him like a bunch of rags. His skinny jeans were loose in awkward places and wouldn’t stay up without a belt, even if he tried.

He was 102lbs of pure melancholy.

Harry sighs and starts brushing his matted brown curls. Patches of them fall off with the brush and he groans. He can’t afford to lose anymore hair. There was already bald spots forming.

When he was done he looked at the time on the microwave. Time to go.

-

The room was painted a dull yellow that gave Harry one sentence when he saw it: “You tried.” The fact was, is that it was a tryful cheery, like half smiles, and long sleeves. It was hopeful, but in a dreadful way.

The secretary in the room he had first entered, who’s name he can’t exactly recall at this moment, had asked for his name, and when he had told her it, she smiled and said: “You’ve already been taken care of.” Harry didn’t know exactly what that meant, but gave her a weary smile, and put his name down on the list of names. He supposed it was the sign-in sheet.

There was only one name on the list, so far, and he was grateful for not being the first one there.

When he had entered the room, the first thing he had noticed was that the room, despite everyone’s best intentions, was dull. There were only two pictures in the room, and a ledge below the window. Cups of broken down pens with no lids sat in three places, and a neat stack of blank papers sat beside each one.

In the center of the room, was a circle full of blue chairs, the kind of chairs that he had to sit in when he was in school; plastic with a curved back.

Towards the left, a boy sat. He was looking down and looking at his cell phone. He had disheveled brown hair that reached the tips of his ears. His skin was tan and sunkissed, as if he spent a lot of time at the beach. He wore a black Nirvana shirt and a leather jacket topped off with black skinny jeans and black Converse.

Harry could tell he wore a lot of black.

Sitting down at the opposite side of the room, he taps his fingers anxiously. He wants to run from this place and never look back. He can tell that this was going to be bad. His stomach growls and Harry fights off the urge to go and get a bag of chips from the vending machine he saw on his towards the elevator.

The building was at least two stories high, maybe three. The outside wasn’t old looking, but it definitely wasn’t new, either. The walls inside were painted gray or some sort of ugly color that made Harry want to sneak in and secretly paint all the rooms to his liking.

A few people piled in a few minutes later and Harry had just now realized that, despite his intentions, that he was early.

Two girls approximately his age sat down three chairs away. Next, a boy with fiery ginger hair came in. After that a man that was presumably older came and sat down. Right next to Harry.

Harry folded his hands in his lap, looking around at all the empty seats. He became seemingly aware of how his stomach folded in the way he sat, and though he was certain no one could see it through his t-shirt, he could feel it, and that was enough.

“Hi,” the man sitting next to him started talking, his voice gruff. 

Harry’s hands started fidgeting in his lap.

“Hi,” Harry whispers out the word like it’s a curse, and looks to the left, away from the man.

Harry had never really liked socializing. His words always came out awkward and jumbled up. He would always have repeat himself, as stuttering became something he did often to people he didn’t know.

“So, did you just get here?” the man kept on.

Harry nods, trying not to reach up and tug at his curls.

“Stop bothering the boy, Grimmy.” A sarcastic voice comes from across the room.

“What, I’m just making conversation.” Harry could hear the smirk in the man, ‘Grimmy’s voice. 

Harry looks up, and while the the boy wearing lots of black didn’t, though he opens his mouth again.“Well,” he pauses and takes a deep breath from his mouth, then (finally) he looks up, “You better fucking stop.”

Harry flinches, he hated that kind of language. He, himself, never uttered a cuss words, and was surprised when it came of the man’s mouth so easily, as if he did it all the time (and as Harry thought about it, he probably did.)

“What? You gonna make me, Louis?” Grimmy was taunting him.

“No.” Louis gets on his phone again. “It’d be a waste of time, you never learn.”

Grimmy was about to shoot back a comment, when Louis sighs and shakes his head, his fringe falling into his face. He ignores it, and goes back to typing on his phone.

Harry wanted to tell Louis ‘thank you’. Harry had never really been that aggressive when addressing what he wanted. In fact, he never stood up for himself, at least, not really. It had always been Zayn or Niall that made people stop talking to him when he felt uncomfortable. But this time it was a stranger that wouldn’t even look up from his cell phone to see the face of the person he defended.

Harry’s hands start fidget in center of his lap again.

-

“I’m Ed,” the boy with ginger hair says. “I like getting tattoos.”

Harry looks up. It had been exactly five minutes since the group had started and Harry wanted to disappear already. 

Ed flashes a smile in everyone (including Harry’s) direction. He then pushes up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, his tattoos showing in all glory. After that he slouches a bit, and directs the attention to one of the girls.

“I’m Perrie,” a girl with blonde hair smiles and waves. “I hate rollercoasters.”

“I’m Cher,” the brunette sitting next to her speaks. “I like the color purple.”

“Grimmy,” he looks at Harry. “... But you already know that.” He then flashes a wink, and Harry gulps, feeling his mouth go dry. “And I like dogs.”

It was his turn. His turn for introductions and to ‘say something about himself’. What would he say? 

“Um...” Harry starts, folding his hands in his lap, “I’m Harry.” He pauses. “And I like apple juice.”

His eyes avert to the floor. That was probably the most boring ‘fact’ about him that he could think of. Apple juice? Really?

“I’m Louis,” the boy on the other side of the circle looks up from his phone . “And I like the color red.” He smirks, his eyes focusing on Harry.

His eyes were blue. Like the sky.

 

-


	2. Chapter 2

Fat.

Harry hated that word. He absolutely despised it’s existence and maybe if he tried hard enough he could ignore that voice that said it the very first time. Maybe if he closed his eyes hard enough he’d be thin. However, the thing was, is that no matter how hard he tried the voice would always come back; that musky voice by the name of Stan saying that he was fat. It always came back.

Maybe things would have been different if Stan hadn’t said anything when he wore that vest. Maybe if he wouldn’t have wore that vest at all Stan wouldn’t have said anything. Maybe if he were thin, he could have wore the vest and Stan wouldn’t have said anything at all. 

That solution is the one he always comes to when he thinks about it, and he realizes there is no other. The problem wasn’t Stan or the vest; the problem was Harry. The problem was Harry’s thighs when he sat down, the problem was Harry’s love handles and lack of prominent collar bones. The problem was just that he was not thin enough.

And that’s how it started.

First it was diets; the ABC diet coming first, then the 3 Hour Diet, and after that the Juice Diet. Next came ‘this food is good’, and ‘this food is bad’, then small bites, and next:

The toilet.

And he honestly hates it. He hates the way it tastes in his mouth the second time. He hates the way he gags on bits of not-well-chewed-up bread. He hates the way his fingers always smell, and he absolutely despises the taste of spaghetti during round two.

He hates everything about it, he hates what he’s doing. 

And he loves it; loves the way it makes his hip bones and collar bones look, loves the way his cheekbones stand out and absolutely adores the way it makes the scale drop.

So he keeps doing it, and he knows exactly why, and exactly what will happen. But that’s okay, he supposes. It’s okay. Because at least I’ll be thin.

At least.

\- 

Louis Tomlinson wasn’t in any hurry. Hurrying meant that he actually wanted to be there, and he didn’t. Hurrying meant that something was important to him, and nothing ever was, so no, he was not in any hurry.

He, however, was moving very quickly. He was pulling up his jeans and zipping them up, and throwing a baggy, black sweater over his frame. After that, he was brushing his hair in quick, swiping motions without any styling.

I really need a haircut, he thinks as he finishes up.

After that he trudges to the kitchen to look at the microwave (the only accurate clock he’s got), and sees that it’s almost 4:45 in the afternoon. Time to go, he thinks, and grabs his car keys.

-

As Louis walks in, he notices the boy with the curly hair is there again; slouched, looking down, and in the same chair he was in the first day he came. Louis makes note of how bony his knees look in his jeans.

Curly doesn’t say anything as Louis gets out his phone and pulls up Tumblr. He also doesn’t say anything as Louis repeatedly curses because really Miley, again? Maybe Curly doesn’t really say much, Louis thinks as he searches for something that he can laugh at. He obviously didn’t say anything to Louis (like a ‘thank you’) when Louis told Grimmy to, basically, fuck off (Louis didn’t really want to admit that ticked him off a bit).

And of course, right as Louis thinks of him, Grimmy walks in. (It’s like a curse, Louis supposes.) He walks in as if he owns the place, right past Louis, and plops down right next to Curly. He smiles at the boy next to him and leans back in his chair, flexing his muscles. Curly doesn’t look up from the ground.

A few minutes later Louis trying really hard not to look at the sight before him: Grimmy desperate and trying so hard to get Curly’s attention. A few times, Louis almost laughs at how pathetic it is. He’s really making an effort, and Louis will give him that Curly is quite cute, but really? He’s brushing up against him, like a cat in heat, telling him about his day as if Curly actually cares.

“Whatcha thinking ‘bout?” Grimmy’s voice is husky as he talks to him.

The other boy doesn’t respond with words, just shrugs and looks away, avoiding Grimmy’s wandering eyes. That doesn’t surprise Louis a bit, the part that does, is that he looks right to Louis.

He’s almost shocked because they haven’t spoken a word to each other the whole time he’s been in group (only three sessions, but still), and though Curly doesn’t say anything, Louis notices quite a lot as they share their look. He notices the way Curly’s eyes are shiny, wet as if he’s about to cry, and how very loose his t-shirt is (it’s probably not even a medium). He notices the way his collar bones are straining against his milky skin, and Louis feels sick.

And though Louis is not the first one to break the eye contact, he’s probably the only one that almost enjoyed the moment, feeling some sort of a loss when seaweed colored eyes glance to the ground. 

His hands start folding his lap, and then Grimmy speaks:

“Are you okay, Harry?”

Louis gulps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. So I know this chapter was really short, but the next chapter should be longer (and better hopefully). Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. -Carlee


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The coffee shop smells of toffee and mocha, the heat in the building from the brewing drinks wrapping Harry in warmth. He is wearing a loose jumper and a pair of leggings that are baggy in weird places, but despite being cold, he loves fall. However, no matter how many hours he spends underneath a quilt and five other blankets, he’s constantly engulfed in a bleak shaft of pure and utter bitterness.

Given that thought, coffee shops are something Harry spends quite a lot of time in. They are warm, like being in a room with a fireplace, and had the comfort of hot chocolate and a scalding cut of tea to the mix. Coffee shops were a perfect place for Harry.

He’s sitting in a booth, holding a cup of Yorkshire tea that was just poured. The fingertips of his hands are like ice, but the palms of his hands are blistering. There’s a newspaper sprawled on the table, and he’s reading a comic about a dog named Spunky that keeps stealing pizza. In the background there’s an elderly couple talking about the latest FOX News story, and a businessman typing hurriedly.

He’s quite content, if he really thinks about it. There’s the faint hunger in the pool of his stomach, considering all he’s ate is a few chips in the past few days, growling and making his insides squirm, but the thing is, is that he’s okay at the same time. It’s been a while since he’s been okay, and Harry is just glad to be okay.

The door bell clings in the distance, and Harry glances up to see who it is. It’s no one he knows; a girl with long brown hair wearing a jean jacket and- oh.  
Harry gulps, feeling his throat go dry a bit. He can feel his leg start to bob a bit, his fingertips shaking as he moves his cup to the upper corner of the table. It really shouldn’t matter, and he knows this, but he also knows that if he stays here there’s a chance he’ll be seen and he’s really not in the mood to be put in that kind of situation. But at the same time, Niall does work here and his shift is just going midway, so of course Niall will see him.

He contemplates his options, he could stay, or he could go.

The couple walk over, the taller of the one being the girl, her hand wrapped around the man’s. He’s dressed in a way Harry would consider weird; black skinny jeans and a huge (to put it at the least) red and black flannel shirt with a purple t-shirt.

It’s really not a big deal that he’s here, Harry thinks; he doesn’t particularly know the boy well other than group, but still, he’s here and that makes Harry’s hands tremble.

“What would you like?” Niall’s accent is evitable in his words, and the girl leans in a bit before she responds.

“Hot chocolate.” She smiles at Niall as he writes it down. “My name is Eleanor.” She smiles a bit and looks at the boy.

“And for you?” Niall looks to the boy.

“Yorkshire tea; no sugar.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Louis.”

-

When Louis and Eleanor get their orders, they head towards the booths and Harry looks out the window as they do so. Out of his peripheral vision he can see that they sit down in the corner and as they do, they start talking.

Harry tries to not listen; I mean, he really tries. But it’s hard not to listen to Louis talk; his voice isn’t low or gruff like you would expect, it’s kind of high pitched. And the thing is; he talks with expressions. He’s furrowing his eyebrows when he’s complaining and his eyes roll when he goes ‘well obviously’. It’s not something Harry would expect; as he just looks bored (and or pissed off) in group.

It’s kind of intriguing to see; Louis with the corners of his mouth upturned a bit. And Harry is sad when Eleanor starts saying that her hot chocolate is cold and Louis agrees. It’s when their backs are turned, Harry gets up, and rushes to the back to the Men’s Room.

He’s unsteady as he gets up, feeling light headed a bit, and not to mention the first step he takes is a stumble (he blames his size 10 feet). When he makes it to stalls, he feels like he’s going to throw up, he’s so dizzy.  
S

o he opens the door to the stall and leans down on his knees. He does this because a) he’s used to it b) if he were to lean over he would fall and c) because getting puke all over his new jumper would be a crying shame.

He doesn’t hear the door swing open in the background as he feels his vision go hazy, black engulfing what once clear and crystal sight. He groans as he hits the toilet, and his head falls forward.

-

Louis Tomlinson loves tea. It’s one of those absolute things he’s got to have to survive, probably the number one thing besides a heart and Vans. So when the Barista gives him his tea, he’s insanely happy for no apparent reason other than he got his tea.  
Eleanor, unusally, orders hot chocolate. He raises an eyebrow as she does so, but she doesn’t see. So when they sit down, he asks. She shrugs. Louis takes that as an acceptable answer.

Eleanor and Louis have been friends for years; growing up on the same street and going to the same school. She’s been there for him for as long as he can remember, basically being the only friend he has. She was the first one that caught on to the fact that he was, in fact, very gay, and was also the first one he told.

She’s good with his four sisters, being a good role model for Lottie, who is the oldest girl, and giving her advice on basically everything. She’s good with Fizzy and the twins. It’s nice, Louis thinks, to have a friend.  
Louis doesn’t have very many of those. He’s never really been exceptionally popular, though he has had more friends than he does now. A few of them he doesn’t really talk to at all anymore, considering they’re friends with people he honestly has no intention of associating with now.

So, all in all, he’s extremely family oriented and then, there’s Eleanor.

They talk about everything; and today is no different. They sit and discuss Eleanor’s school problems (“Everyone is so annoying!”), and Louis’ lack of them. Louis doesn’t go to school, at least not anymore. He finished High School and then went on to college; dropping out just after year one. He was a drama student.

“My hot chocolate is cold.” Eleanor says after a while, she is grinning at her cup, lifting her eyebrow. She just took a drink, and almost spit it out.

Louis has long ago drank all of his tea, so he just nods at her signal that it’s time to go. They leave a two dollar tip and the blonde boy behind the counter says ‘thank you’ in response.

When they walk out, the bell clangs and Louis wraps the long sleeve shirt he’s wearing closer to him, the warmth of the tea already leaving his body.

“Shit.” Louis’ voice startles Eleanor as she starts to walk down the street to her car.

“What?” She rolls her eyes at him.

“I have to piss.”

Eleanor laughs and gestures a ‘well go then’ sign. Louis laughs and heads back in the coffee shop.

The blonde boy behind the counter says, “Back already?” as he walks in. Louis shrugs and points to the back, where he assumes the bathrooms are. The blonde boy nods in response.  
The mirror above the sink is spotless, and Louis notes not to splash water on it as he walks in. He chooses the urinal in the middle and starts to well... pee.

As he’s relieving himself, he hears a thud. It startles him as he had figured no one else was in here. He didn’t hear anything earlier.

When he’s done he turns around and the sight shocks him. I mean, it really freaks him out. There’s a leg sticking out of the stall. The toes are facing the floor and Louis feels all the color go from his face  
He walks over and slowly pushes the stall door open. It swings both ways, he finds out a minute later as he’s trying desperately to see what- who’s behind the door. As he does, he can hear deep, labored breathing. They’re gasping and he can hear choked sobs.

The toilet is a mess, and the person’s arms are sprawled around, as if holding it. Louis can’t see the person’s eyes, a curly mop of knotted hair covering most of their face. Louis can’t tell how old they are, but the man’s legs are curled up to his chest, one foot sticking out to where Louis can almost touch it with his own.

“Excuse me?” Louis’ voice is shaky, and he gulps as he takes a step forward.

He doesn’t respond, so Louis takes a deep breath and touches him gently. He jumps a bit, but doesn’t say anything. Louis pats him harder, though the man doesn’t do anything beside grumble softly. He finally, after debating on it, grabs his shoulders and starts to turn him over.

He’s suprisingly light for being so tall, Louis thinks. Louis can feel his shoulder blades peek through his shirt.

Louis pushes him over, and then reaches out to his face. His hair is matted, glued to his face with sweat, and when Louis finally gets all of it out, the boy moves.

 

“Oops.”

“Hi...”

-

Harry can feel someone’s hands.

He feels heavy, like someone put a brick on his head. And his neck won’t move, even though he’s trying. The hands keep touching, making Harry want to say ‘go away’, but he can’t. He can’t do anything.  
Their fingertips are light, wiping away stickiness from his face.

He can more feel the light come to his eyelids than see it; orange warmth spreading in his wake.  
He doesn’t like the light, but his eyes seem to have a mind of their own, and there’s a face in his view before he knows what’s happening. It’s not Niall or Zayn like he thought it would be, it’s someone else, someone that has blue eyes and tan skin. Someone that’s fringe falls into their face and has thin lips.

“Oops.” Harry’s grumbling words as he thinks of them, but they come out anyway, heavily,.

“Hi.”

He lets the light come in, bright and white. He lets the man pick him up and drag him to the sink, feeling the tiled floor beneath his clothes.

The next thing he feels is something warm on his forehead. It feels nice, he thinks, but then it’s gone and the fingertips are back. They’re light and Harry feels himself go into the touch, feeling the soft essence of his skin.

“Can you hear me?” The man’s voice is light, silvery even. It rings in Harry’s ears.  
He tries to grumble, to say ‘yes, yes I can hear you’ and ‘I’m alright’, but he can’t. The words won’t come out.

He can feel his eyes close as the man is calling for help.

-

Beeping is the first thing Harry wakes up to. It’s loud, and Harry groans because it’s time to get up.  
Harry hates getting up. He wants to stay it bed, but the beeping is loud and he has to turn his alarm off.  
His eyes groggily open, and Harry squints and furrows his eyebrows as the light hits them. “... Go tell the nurse he’s awake...” Harry recgonizes the voice that speaks, however, he doesn’t know exactly where he’s heard it.

“... Okay, Louis...”

Louis? Does Harry even know a Louis?

Oh, yeah, he does. But he’s from group, Harry thinks. He shouldn’t be here.

“... Thanks, El...”

El?

“Harry? Harry open your eyes.” He’s never heard this voice before. It’s light, airy, and feminine.  
He does as he’s told.

The room isn’t his. The bed isn’t his, and he can feel his hands start to shake. He can feel his breathing quicken and his eyes go wide.

“Harry, it’s okay, calm down.” A woman is there, her hand resting on his. “Just focus on my voice. Shhh...”  
She talks to him, talks about her and he learns he name is Karen. Karen is a nice name, he thinks. She speaks again and tells him about the weather, how bitter cold it is. She asks if he likes the cold and he nods softly. Karen is nice, Harry thinks after a while. Karen is okay.

“What’s in my arm?” He asks. He can feel the pinch of something in the crease of his elbow, and it hurts.

“An IV.”

“I don’t like it...” His voice is hesitant.

“Well, you need it to get better.” She smiles and pats his arm.

-

He asks to see Zayn and Niall first. When they come in, they’re faces are furrowed and pale.

“Harry, are you okay?” Zayn is the first to speak.

“M’fine.”

Niall gulps and looks away.

For a while they sit and talk. They talk about regular things, like work, and how the bush next to the road got cut down. When they talk, they talk soft, their voices just a tad too polite and avert questions too fast to be normal. Harry is a little bit confused.

When they’re done with talking to him, Karen comes in.

“How are you feeling?” She smiles as she sits down next to him.

“I’m okay.” His voice is hoarse.

“Now, do you know why you’re here, Harry, in the hospital?”

“Not really.”

“Well, you were at a coffee shop downtown.” Karen starts. “Do you remember that? You ordered your usual, Yorkshire tea. You were reading the newspaper...” Harry nods, he remembers. “Now, you went to the bathroom in a hurry. Do you remember why?”  
Harry nods. “I had to wee.”

“Now, what happened as you got up, did you feel lightheaded or nauseas?”  
Harry nods. “That’s why I went into the bathroom stall. I had to throw up.”

“Has it happened before, feeling nauseas?” Karen’s voice is light as she talks.

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“So, you went to the bathroom and then what happened?”

“I got down to the toilet, and then...” Harry feels small, like he’s in a court room and Karen is the judge. He didn’t mean to faint, he didn’t. “I passed out.”

-

Harry spends the next few days in the hospital. He learns he’s suffering from malnutrition. He gets food pumped into his stomach three times a day. He hates it, because he can’t go to the bathroom. He never told them; never said anything, but it’s as if they know. Harry wishes they didn’t know.

When he gets out, he’s signed up with a therapist that he’ll meet twice a week. They say that Niall and Zayn have to keep an eye on him and watch him eat and make sure he doesn’t go to the bathroom. Niall says he’s going to take off work to stay home with Harry, and Harry begs him not to, but he insists.

He doesn’t really remember anything from when he woke up, so he just goes with the flow. He doesn’t know who saved him, and no one will tell him. Harry doesn’t understand, just like he doesn’t really understand anything.

Although he wishes he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. So I know it's been a while since I updated, and I'm sorry for I also know the last chapter was less than 1,000 words. So I hope this makes up for it. Have a good day. Also, thank you so much for the comments! It means so much to me. <3


	4. Chapter 4

The things Harry knows are pretty significant. The things that are ‘maybe’s are even more so. 

Harry doesn’t know when he started hating; himself and everyone else. He doesn’t know why, and more importantly he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know why he loves the way his hipbones strain against his milky flesh, why he starves until he can barely move and the air hurts to breathe. And above all of this, how he ended up here.

Here. Here is like death, but worse. 

You’re not alive, but you’re not buried under the ground beneath cobwebs either. You’re not rotting flesh, but you're not doing anything either. It’s like existing without living, and Harry hates it. He hates the way the Earth moves in circles and orbits around the sun without fail while he fails to everything else. He hates the way the monsters don’t live under the bed anymore, they live inside his head. And more than anything else, he hates that he loves everything poisonous, things that kill him inch by inch, by going in instead of out.

So here is a place where Harry is dressed in black skinny jeans that sag in his knees and a sweater that rubs against his skin in weird places. Here is a small room with smelly carpet and too many inspirational quotes in golden picture frames. Here is a place he’d rather not be, sitting on a couch he’d rather not be on and looking at a woman he’d rather not have met.

She’s sitting with her legs crossed over each other, panty-hose clad fabric creeping up her calves and to her tight pencil skirt as her eyes scan over Harry’s grass colored ones, searching for something that Harry doesn’t know.

“You were discharged from South Crown two days ago, is that correct?” Her voice is chalky, so she clears her throat and Harry nods as she does so. “And you were told you were suffering from malnutrition, resulting in a feeding tube for one week.” She pauses for a minute, waiting for Harry to respond. He just looks to his knees. “Do you know why you’re here, Harry?”

Yes.

-

Harry’s always needed help. Help is not something he’s foreign to; it’s just something he neglects to ask for.

For example; when he was eight he wanted to cross the long monkey bars. He had grown tired of doing only five, now, it was time for ten. Harry could count to ten, so he knew it comes after nine, and it is only a few more than five, and really, it couldn’t be that much harder, right? So Harry got up and climbed the ladder and then started to go and as he reached number eight, he knew there were only two more to go, and he could make it. But his fingers started slipping, and Mrs. King, his teacher was walking by, but no, he could do it.

And that was another problem; Harry couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do anything right. At least, not by his own standards. If he made three perfect pancakes in a row on the first try, then he would have to make another one perfect too. But if it didn’t turn out the same, then he was a failure. And Zayn and Niall had grown tired, but accustomed, to hearing it.

They had grown used to hearing things like ‘I’m not good enough’ and ‘I can’t do anything right’ as long as they’d known Harry, even when he was a wee little thing that couldn’t get a fifth cheerio on his spoon. 

Niall had known Harry first, being the nicest one to him when his parents divorced. It had happened when they were in sixth grade and Harry had come to school with tear filled eyes and a puffy nose. He put up his backpack and sat alone for the whole day, his hair matted to his sticky face. As lunch rolled around Harry had been pushed into a locker before hand, and Niall, of course feeling sorry for him, asked if Harry wanted to sit with him at lunch as he reached out a shaky hand to help the other boy up.

When high school came, they had met Zayn in art club. Zayn was a popular boy with a bunch of friends, so neither of them really know why he chose to hang out with them. By sophomore year Zayn and Niall had been going out for a few weeks and Harry was always with them, tagging along in slow paces and admiring everything through new and fresh eyes, eyes that would soon be dead and dull.

After they graduated high school, Zayn jumped on his chance to become a dance instructer, picking up his like of dancing (a different kind of course) from Harry. He had attended classes for a few years, eventually becoming friends with Liam, who was at the time, an assistant teacher, and when a new position opened up in the hip hop department, he came home from class with a new job.

Harry was proud of his friend, loving dance himself, and had been doing it since he was very young, three to be exact, and he loves it. He loves the way he felt freedom as he leaps into the air with his toes pointed and arms out stretched. He loves the raw emotion he felt as he’s in tune with the music. He lives for the sore muscles after class and the strength he feels as he does the splits. He absolutely adores dancing.

Almost as much as he loves hurting himself.

-

Some secrets are meant to be kept. Some things are meant to stay hidden. Louis knows this, oh, does Louis know this. But that doesn’t help as he sees Harry at 5:55pm curled up in his seat with his knees to his chest. It doesn’t help as Harry shares that he feels worse than ever, and it certainly doesn’t help as Harry exits the building with tear strained eyes.

And no, he doesn’t need to tell him what happened, no he doesn’t need to give Harry his number, but he does, and he feels worse than ever when Harry’s eyes light up for a second and he mutters a small ‘thank you’ as Louis basically runs away from him and into his car.

So now he’s sitting here and a lanky boy with too much bones and not enough meat has texted him less than five minutes ago with a ‘Hey -H’ and Louis doesn’t know what to do. He’s alone in this, and Eleanor would say ‘you shouldn’t do that’ and ‘you don’t want to make it worse’, and yes, but no. Louis wants to tell Harry ‘I saved you’. He wants to tell Harry that he’s sick and needs to get better, and as Louis types a ‘Hi -L’ back, he feels sick.

He feels sick because he knew Harry was sick, and he didn’t even know him less than two weeks ago. He feels sick because he could feel the way Grimmy looked at him like he was about to jump his bones and the way Harry’s hands shook when he did. He noticed the bald spot on Harry’s head that he started to cover up with a headscarf and the hood of his jacket.

And Louis most importantly feels sick because in the waiting there was only two people there, a blonde that was crying and saying ‘I knew it’ and a brown boy saying ‘I know’. 

And Louis knows.

And so does everyone else.


	5. Chapter 5

Their first conversation is simple, full of ‘how are you’ and ‘good wbu’. The second is short, an ‘xx’ at the end of Harry’s sentences. His responses are very thought out, Harry taking time and not revealing too much. Louis learns about his roommates, that Zayn is a dance instructor; Harry’s response with ‘I used to be a dancer’ comes in almost two seconds flat.

It’s been almost a week since Louis gave the other boy his phone number, and everything’s been really good, as good as they can get, and well. That brings Louis here, outside of a building with more windows than anything. A double door leading inside with bubbling five year olds wearing tutus. Except for a small boy wearing a black leotard and a pair of uggs that he keeps telling all the other girls about. They gush, squeal, and Louis wonders for a minute if that was Harry when he was little, and then he thinks it probably was.

Their conversations are short, and in fact, they really don’t know too much about each other. He discovers things in short terms, like the fact that Harry has a sister named Gemma and a mother named Anne, but they never go into detail about hardly anything.

And the past. This is something they never discuss and just like Louis never talks about friends and Harry never talks about clothes, they don’t talk about before, they talk about now.

The air in Louis’ small car is thick, anticipation weighing him down. His hands are gripped on his steering wheel, though he’s been parked for at least five minutes, waiting, and wondering: ‘why the fuck am I doing this’. 

It didn’t take very much to find out where Zayn worked, he knew he was a dance instructor, and there’s only one dance studio in town (it’s been there for ages).

Louis takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air hitch in his throat before he stumbles out of the car and follows the bubbling five year olds into the long building with a sign that says DANCE in giant letters that look like they’ve been freshly painted. 

As he walks in, the feel of the bass beneath the floor strikes him and he almost jumps out of his skin as he feels the floor tickle his feet covered in a pair of gray Vans. There’s a bunch of boys, and a few girls too, on the floor, kicking and punching as they slide around on stained floors. As Louis looks, he’s quite impressed.

All of them are in sync, moving to the beat and as he looks over a lot of moms, he sees the brown boy that he saw at the hospital a few weeks ago. He’s counting, his hair in a quiff and wearing sweatpants with high tops and a white t-shirt.

“Five, six, seven, eight!” Louis can barely hear him over the beat of Eminem’s ‘The Monster’. 

He hears the silky voice of Rhianna in his ears, and the long hair of the three girls whipping their hair that’s coming out of a loose pony-tail.

I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed  
Get along with the voices inside of my head  
You're trying to save me, stop holding your breath  
And you think I'm crazy, yeah, you think I'm crazy

Yeah. Louis can relate to that.

-

“You’re here about Harry, aren’t you?” Is the first thing that Zayn says to Louis. 

Louis’ been standing there for a good five to ten minutes, walking out the door as the class ends. And by the time Zayn gets to the parking lot, he’s shivering with his hands in his pockets, wishing he’d have worn socks.

“... Yeah.” Louis’ hesitant, it’s not like he’s known Harry particularly long, only knowing him from group and what happened at the coffee shop. And of course he realizes that he really doesn’t have a place to say anything, as they did very clearly tell him that he shouldn’t get involved. He somewhat doesn’t care.

“He doesn’t know anything, so don’t go telling him what happened. He won’t like it.” Zayn puts a cigarette in his mouth.

“But why not?” Louis’ words are rushed, coming out fast without a break and Zayn pauses before lighting his cigarette.

“He doesn’t trust.”

-

It’s when Zayn and Louis arrive at the coffee shop that Niall (aka the blonde boy) works at, Louis thinks this might have been a bad idea. His car isn’t heating up properly and he’s absolutely jumping out of his bones he’s so nervous. Zayn didn’t say anything, not really, and he thinks that maybe it’s some sort of trap, but the way Harry talks about him, he’s pretty sure it’s not.

Harry talks about Niall and Zayn like they’re the only reason he’s hanging on to life, and really, Louis thinks it might be true. Harry doesn’t talk about his mental health other than ‘sorry, was at therapy xx’ and Louis doesn’t ask, though he does notice certain things in group. Things like he can’t keep his pants up, and he’s always shivering.

He recognizes the coffee shop as soon as they pull up, I mean, how could he forget? He feels sick, like his stomach might jump out and explode any minute. But he gets out of his car, slamming the door behind him, and walks up to the curb, feeling his feet wobble against the concrete.

He pauses before going in, and Zayn goes: “Well, c’mon then.” Before basically shoving Louis in the building.

It feels the same as it did the other day, warm and smelling of coffee beans and syrup, but at the same time, it’s ridden with insecurity. He remembers telling Eleanor what happened as they sped to the hospital, behind an ambulance with a certain lad that he really didn’t want to care about. He remembers feeling scared; probably only the second time in his life, and the way his palms were sweating, like they are now.

Niall is behind the counter, washing out a pitcher, and he hears Zayn clear his throat. Niall jumps and almost falls over before he realizes who it is.

“Oh!” His accent is peaking through his surprise. He looks happy as he sees Zayn, but then his eyes land on Louis, and the air thickens.

“What are you doing here?” It isn’t accusatory, but Louis feels the discomfort as Niall’s baby blue eyes wash over his own. Louis gulps, and then tries to speak:

“I’m just here to…” He trails off. Why is he here? Honestly. Why the fuck is he here? They clearly told him to stay the f away, so why is here wearing black skinny jeans and a band shirt of a band that he doesn’t even listen to? Why is he, honestly, worried about a boy that he really shouldn’t care about?

“He wants to know.” Zayn deadpans.

Yeah. I guess that’s it.

-

The first thing they do is get him a cup of tea (Yorkshire, Niall remembers). The second thing they do is tell him that he ‘can’t repeat any of it’ and that ‘they really shouldn’t be telling’ him this. But they do, and it’s hesitant, but they start out with what they know for sure.

“I’ve known Harry for years,” Niall begins.

They’re sitting at a table, Zayn and Niall across from Louis. Louis’ legs are twitching, his hands clammy. He’s trying to appear confident, but Zayn’s brown eyes aren’t looking very friendly and Niall looks like he might cry.

“He used to get made fun of, like really bad. He would come to my house crying because of it and wouldn’t talk very much for a few days.” Niall explains. Louis realizes the two people across from him are holding hands.

“One day, he wore a vest. He had talked about how much he wanted it for a few weeks. It was Abercrombie & Fitch, and about 70 dollars. Anyway,” Niall gulps. “He wore it to school and this guy named Stan-,”

Louis fears he might throw up.

-

Nighttime is always the worst. He can’t really sleep too much, so he hides underneath his covers scrolling through Tumblr. It helps, at least he thinks he does, but as his eyes shut, he feels his body covered with rough hands that were once soft, and lips against his neck.

He feels like he’s falling, but he’s still asleep. He’s asleep but he feels as if he’s awake, as if the memories are life and the bruises are real, and then he wakes up, feeling as he hasn’t slept for days, when in reality it is 1pm and there’s dry drool around his cracked lips.

Louis throws his blanket to the side and sits up, feeling his back pop with resistance. His phone is laying amongst the clutter and oh- there’s a message from Harry.

Hey xx

It’s simple, but Louis fears he might be sick as he tries to type a response back with shaky fingers.

Stan.

The name rings in his head, over and over, and he can faintly remember everything, but nothing at the exact same time. He hates himself all over again, the lurch in his stomach getting wider with every breath he takes, and as he finally types out a ‘hi’, the hunger that was once pooling in his stomach becomes opposite and then, it happens.

It happens with force; his shaky fingers absolutely trembling with need and hate and want and terror. The lump in his throat and the pool in his stomach becomes unbearable.

 

Put your hands on something flat-

He can’t breathe, he can’t see, and there are tears flowing down his neck and onto his chest with absolute force that he can’t seem to let go of. It comes and it doesn’t go away, the voice- his voice, it rings and rings and he feels his neck for the bruise that was once fresh.

It’s not there.

It’s not real.

But it was.

And it is.


	6. IMPORTANT

Hey guys, I know it's been a while since I updated and I'm very sorry for that. I am sorry to say that I am putting this story on hiatus for a little while, but during that time, and currently now, I am working on a oneshot so you'll have that to look forwards to. It'll be very long and well put together. I may edit this story a little bit and then I'll tell you guys when you can go back and read it. I'm sorry for this inconvience. I love you all!

Personal info:

Facebook: Alaska Lee  
Instagram: whispered_addiction  
Twitter: ckraaad  
Tumblr: whisp3red-add1ction

xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm Carlee and this is my story. I don't know how many chapters there will be, but I plan on them being good ones. Have a good day!


End file.
